The Vortex
by castielofasgard
Summary: The Avengers go on a mission to take down a Hydra base housing a dangerous device. After an unexpected disaster strikes, Bucky must figure out how to pick up the wreckage. [Established Stucky. Features all Avengers post-AoU. Warnings: language, mild sexual content, violence, substance abuse, contemplation of suicide, torture mention]
1. Chapter 1: Mission Briefing

Chapter 1: Mission Briefing

Bucky sat down beside Steve in the meeting room of Avengers Tower. The rest of the Avengers were sat around the long (much longer than necessary for twelve people) table, each with an official-looking folder sitting in front of them. Some of the group were already leafing through its contents, but Bucky left his untouched, the big black "A" on the front staring up at the tall ceiling.

"Everybody here? Good," said Rhodey, standing up. All attention turned to him. "So, as you know, Tony and I have been scoping out this particularly elusive Hydra base, narrowing down its exact location and scanning the base for unusual equipment. And we definitely found something unusual. Tony and Bruce have been analyzing the information we found, so I'll turn it over to them to explain what they've figured out."

Rhodey sat down and Tony and Bruce stood. Bruce adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, but it was Tony who spoke first.

"What we found isn't just unusual, it's... well, the only word for it is terrifying. This group of Hydra agents have some sort of device, whether discovered or created, with extremely destructive power. I mean like tornado and hurricane at the same time type destructive."

"What does it do?" Sam asked.

"This device..." Bruce began. "Well, it has the ability to suck everything within thirty feet of it into... well, we don't know where. Itself, maybe. But this thing packs some serious punch. Anything weighing less than a ton and not strapped down would be pulled into it."

"Quite fittingly, it's called The Vortex," said Tony. "And if Hydra tries to use this thing, the results would be disastrous. A lotta people would die."

"Or worse," Bruce added.

"Worse than dying?" Clint said. "What d'you mean?"

"Like I said, we don't know what happens to whatever The Vortex sucks in. They might die, but they also might be trapped inside the device or in some sort of limbo or even transported to someplace else entirely," said Bruce. "I don't know about you, but that amount of unknown is hell of a lot more terrifying than dying."

Bucky felt a little sick to his stomach at the thought and was grateful when Steve laid a hand on his knee. He placed his own hand over Steve's and squeezed it gently as Tony went on.

"So naturally, since this thing is ridiculously dangerous and we're the Avengers, we're gonna go take it from them."

"Naturally," said Pietro, a hint of well-intentioned sarcasm in his voice. "Do we at least know how to shut this device down? In case they try to use it on us?"

Tony and Bruce exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

"Not exactly," said Bruce.

"There kinda isn't a way to shut it down."

"Excuse me?" said Steve. Bucky felt Steve's grip tighten on his knee as he tensed.

"The thing... as far as we can tell... it just sort of runs out," said Tony. "Like you turn it on and it just goes at it until it pretty much collapses on itself and shuts down."

"So it's got a time limit?" Steve clarified.

"I guess you could put it that way."

"How long does it run for?"

Tony paused, eying Steve a bit nervously. "We... don't know..."

"You don't know?" Steve repeated, his eyebrows shooting up.

Bucky knew that tone. That was a dangerous tone. He gave Steve's hand another squeeze, a warning.

"Well, it's not like we've got the damn thing here to actually study it," Tony shot back. "We've never even seen it in person. All we've got to go on is the scans Rhodey and I got from our fly over. It's a miracle we know as much as we do, Rogers, so consider us lucky."

Bucky felt Steve untense a bit.

"You're right, Stark," he said. "That wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry."

"No worries. And hey, it's your turn to talk now, mister strategy, so the floor's all yours."

Steve stood, his hand slipped from Bucky's knee and leaving it cold. He stepped around his now vacant chair and went to the screen on the wall behind him, pulling up the schematics of the Hydra base that Tony and Rhodey had gathered. Bucky turned to watch as Steve began laying out their plan of attack.

Several hours later, Bucky emerged from the bathroom in his and Steve's suite, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips, his wet hair tousled. Steve was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, doing one last weapons check so he wouldn't have to do it in the morning before they left. At the sight of Bucky, however, he set aside his handgun and stood up, a sly grin on his face as he hooked an arm around Bucky's bare, slightly damp waist. Bucky smirked at him, the extreme proximity forcing him to tilt his head back in order to catch Steve's eyes.

"Y'know, Stevie, you surprise me. Seventy years ago, I'd never have imagined you'd become such a slut," he teased.

Steve looked fake-offended.

"How dare you suggest such a thing? I am _Captain America_ , the very picture of virtue and honor! I would never dream of begging a man to ravage my pure, virgin body!" he declared dramatically, his hands sliding from Bucky's lower back to his ass.

"Oh, shame on me for speaking such slander!" Bucky exclaimed, trying to echo Steve's melodrama but laughing too hard to succeed. "I ought to be spanked for my behavior, sir."

"Who's the slut now?" Steve shot back.

"I was always a slut, Rogers."

"Well, now you're _my_ slut, Barnes."

A pleasant little chill ran up Bucky's spine as Steve murmured these words into his neck before kissing the soft skin over his pulse. Bucky placed his hands on Steve's waist, snaking them up his back as he wrapped his arms around him and pulled their bodies closer. The towel around Bucky's waist had been slowly coming loose and now fell to the floor, leaving him completely naked in Steve's embrace. Bucky's hands slipped under Steve's t-shirt, inching it up, subtly hinting at him to remove it. Steve obeyed, detaching his lips from Bucky's neck just long enough to pull the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then he was back at it as though determined to leave his mark on Bucky, to claim him for himself. Bucky let out a little groan, melting under Steve's lips, running his fingers over the smooth, rippling muscles of Steve's back. His hands wandered down to the waistline of Steve's sweatpants, fingers slipped under the elastic, slowly pulling the pants down over the perfect curve of Steve's ass. Bucky felt Steve smile against his neck as he drew his hands gingerly over the newly exposed skin and finally Steve emerged, gazing into Bucky's eyes before dragging them both onto the bed.


	2. Chapter 2: Countdown

Chapter 2: Countdown

Neither Bucky nor Steve was walking normally the next morning as they boarded the quinjet, a fact that most of the team noticed but very few pointed out besides a few suggestive eyebrow waggles and teasing winks (almost the entirety of both these gestures came from Tony and Clint, repeatedly). Everyone was suited up in their various uniforms, armed to the teeth, and surprisingly lighthearted for a group of people about to fight a bunch of Nazi-wannabe's with a device that could suck them into an unknown abyss indefinitely. They all sat down and strapped in for take-off, Steve on Bucky's right and Clint, rather unfortunately it turned out, on Bucky's left.

"Nice hickey," Clint chuckled, leaning over in a gesture that suggested he only meant Bucky to hear, though the actual volume of his stage-whisper suggested otherwise.

Bucky blushed as he glanced around to see who else had heard, accidentally catching Wanda's eye as she raised an eyebrow, laughing softly.

"Barton, I will shove every single one of the arrows in your quiver directly up your ass," Bucky threatened.

"Careful, some of those are explosive. My ass is much too pretty to be blown up."

"Barton, I swear to God..."

But Bucky couldn't help laughing (partially because it was kinda true).

The flight to Poland was uneventful, and eventually they had landed in the forest about a half mile from the Hydra base. Bruce was to stay in the jet at his own request, functioning as the getaway driver and, if necessary, emergency backup. All the rest prepped their comms and stepped outside into the trees. A light drizzle was pattering on the leaves above, sending the occasional cold drip down onto their heads. As the base came into view, they fanned out as planned, splitting into pairs. Bucky was with Steve of course, and they silently crept to the back cellar door. There was a single man standing guard, and Bucky slipped up behind him, knife in hand. He could tell Steve was watching behind him in exasperation; this wasn't part of the plan. Bucky was just supposed to knock the man out, but last time that had been the plan, the guy had woken up too soon and alerted his colleagues of intruders and nearly gotten half the team killed. Bucky wasn't about to take that chance again, so he clapped one hand over the guard's mouth and drew the knife across his throat with the other. There was a spurt of sickeningly red blood, and Bucky quietly lowered the man to the floor.

"What the hell?" Steve mouthed as he rejoined Bucky next to the quickly-expanding pool of blood.

Bucky just shrugged and turned to the door. It was miraculously unlocked, which struck him as suspicious and he indicated this worry with a frown at Steve. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. The room beyond was surprisingly well-lit, another suspicious thing, and seemed to be some sort of lab. It was also deserted.

"We're in," Steve hissed into the comm.

"Whatever happened to filling your cellar with jam jars and cardboard boxes?" Bucky commented.

They began searching the room. The images from Tony and Rhodey's scan had indicated that the Vortex device would be in here, but it was highly possible that they had moved it. Sitting on a table at one end of the room was a very secure-looking box. This seemed promising. Bucky inspected the box and to his surprise, found it unlocked. The number of suspicious things about this room was quickly increasing. Bucky opened the box. Inside was a relatively small, round device with a serial number printed across the top.

"Ha! Found it!" he said.

"Good work, Barnes, now grab it and go and for God's sake, be careful," Rhodey's voice replied over the comm.

His metal left hand still holding the bloody knife, he reached into the box with his right to pick up the device. Almost the moment his flesh touched the smooth metal, the lights in the lab switched to red and a steady beeping began to cry out from the device. Bucky looked down at it and saw that numbers were now projected on its surface. Counting down. Fifteen seconds. Fourteen. Thirteen.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Steve, we've gotta get outta here, we gotta get out right now!"

Bucky dropped the device and it rolled, beeping fatefully as it went. He ran for the door, grabbing Steve's arm, but the minute he slammed himself into it he knew something was wrong. The door was locked. The beeping was getting louder. If the counting in Bucky's head was right, there had to be about eight seconds left. Still dragging Steve, he dashed to the other door that led into the rest of the base but this one was locked too. The whole room was on lockdown. They were trapped.

"Guys, the device is going off and we're stuck, we'll try to hold ourselves down but if we can't..." Bucky spewed into the comm.

But before he could finish, an explosion shook the room and a swirling vortex opened above where the device had landed. Dropping his knife, Bucky snatched the railing from the stairs behind him with his metal hand and grabbed both of Steve's hands in the other, just in time. He dug his heels into the ground, hoping this would be enough to keep the both of them from flying into oblivion. Everything in the room was swirling chaotically through the air, being sucked into the vortex, and Steve was just barely able to keep his footing.

"I've gotcha, Stevie, just hold on," Bucky shouted over the roaring wind.

"Bucky, look out!" Steve cried.

Bucky turned just in time to duck as half a cabinet soared over his head. When he looked up, Steve's feet had lifted off the ground. Bucky's heart leapt into his throat and began beating a frantic rhythm against his adam's apple. He felt like his arm might pop from its socket with the strain of holding onto Steve and his hand was beginning to sweat. Steve's hand slipped a fraction of an inch and Bucky let out an involuntary shout.

"Bucky!" Steve said, sounding more terrified than Bucky had ever heard, and that scared him even more.

"I've got you!" cried Bucky desperately.

But he didn't. He knew he didn't. Even as the words left his mouth, he felt Steve slip from his own sweaty palm. It was almost in slow motion – one minute their hands were locked, fingers wrapped around wrists, then their palms touched in a white-knuckled handshake, then their fingertips scrabbled frantically to regain some sort of contact, anything, then just desperate reaching as Steve was yanked into the gravity of the vortex.

"NO!" Bucky screamed, watching Steve disappear among the debris of the room.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Anything still left in the air when the device shut down fell with a clang to the ground. Bucky collapsed, still clutching the railing like a lifeline, tears already running down his face as sobs began to wrack his body. The cellar door burst open and Tony, Natasha, and Pietro rushed in. They took in the devastation of the room, then spotted Bucky, more devastated than all the surrounding destruction. Suddenly, Natasha was at his side.

"Bucky. Bucky, look at me. What happened?"

"Steve... I... it... he... he's gone," Bucky managed.

Breathing was proving difficult and he wasn't sure if it was because he was crying or because subconsciously his body knew he didn't want to be breathing if Steve wasn't.

"Why did the Vortex go off?" Natasha questioned.

"I... picked it up..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pietro bending down, reaching toward that hellish device.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" he shouted, far too loud, far too desperate.

Pietro froze, his eyes widened in surprise at Bucky's outburst, then slowly straightened back up.

"I'm sorry... I didn't... I... Pietro... so...sorry..." Somehow startling Pietro like that had broken him even more, but he also seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence unless he was shouting.

"Bucky, what happened?" Natasha said, her tone much more gentle than Bucky was used to.

"Touch... I think... it... activated... when touched..."

"It activates when touched?" Natasha said, clarifying.

Bucky nodded. "Box... there's a box... prob'ly gone now..."

He saw Tony and Pietro scanning the wreckage, then Tony leaned down.

"Got it," he declared. "I bet this thing is built to be immune to the device somehow, or else something this small should've been sucked up immediately."

He picked up the box and went back to where the device was lying, looking so innocent and unassuming among the destruction. Tony scooped it up and shut the box.

"We should leave," Pietro said. "Hydra is sure to know we're here."

"The kid's right, we need to haul ass. We've got what we came for," Tony agreed.

"Come on, Bucky," said Natasha, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength. "Keep it together 'til we're safe on the quinjet."

Bucky didn't think that would be possible and the others' distinct lack of reaction to Steve's fate was infuriating, but he followed the others out. Wanda and Sam were standing guard outside.

"Where's Steve?" Sam asked immediately.

Tony held up the little box in answer. A look of shock flashed across Sam's face but he quickly shoved it down and led the way back to the quinjet. The rest of the team was already aboard by the time they got there.

"Start the jet," Tony said, hitting the button to shut the ramp door.

"Wait, where's Cap?" Bruce asked.

"In the box, just start the damn jet," Tony snapped. He looked immediately guilty. "Sorry..."

"Don't mention it," said Bruce, starting the jet and getting them in the air. He set the course and turned on autopilot. "So what happened?"

Natasha, Tony, and Pietro all glanced at Bucky then at each other before Natasha took up the story.

"Steve and Bucky found the device, but when Bucky went to pick it up it turned on and... it took Steve."

"Fuck..." gasped Clint.

Bucky felt the tears start anew and curled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms. He could hear the others still talking in hushed, horrified voices but wasn't listening to what they were saying. Suddenly he felt a strong but gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Thor sitting on the floor beside him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, somehow managing to still sound regal as hell even as his voice cracked from emotion.

"No," Bucky squeaked, sounding far from regal.

Then suddenly Thor's arm was around his shoulders and Bucky was crying into the chest of the goddamn god of thunder as the quinjet soared silently over the Atlantic.


	3. Chapter 3: Aftermath

Chapter 3: Aftermath

Because of the bastardized version of the serum Zola had pumped him full of all those years ago, Bucky had a lot harder time getting drunk than he used to. It wasn't impossible, but it would take enough alcohol to kill (or at least seriously incapacitate) a normal person to get him as drunk as he wanted to be. The moment they returned to Avengers Tower, he went to the kitchen, grabbed the largest bottle of whiskey he could find, and retreated to his and Steve's – no, just his now – room.

An hour and a half later, the whiskey bottle sat empty on the nightstand and Bucky was only barely feeling buzzed. He slunk back to the kitchen, took another bottle of whiskey and one of red wine, then went back upstairs. He uncorked the wine and drank straight from the bottle. It was sweeter than he usually preferred, but the sweetness was a good thing; the higher sugar content would get him drunker faster. By the time he drained the wine bottle, he was beginning to feel a bit of something. But not nearly enough. He unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and took a long swig. His throat burned, tastebuds complaining at the drastic switch in flavors, but he ignored it, relished it even. The burn of whiskey was a different brand of pain from the shredding, throbbing ache in his chest from losing Steve, and he was sure pain would be the only sensation he could experience now. By the bottom of the third bottle, he still wasn't as drunk as he'd planned to be, but he was close enough to not want to move to get a fourth. So instead he curled up on top of the blankets and clutched his pillow like it was the only thing holding him on the earth.

* * *

"He is in really bad shape," Tony announced, returning to the lounge from the kitchen with an armful of much-needed beers. "He stole two bottles of whiskey _and_ the last of that really shitty wine Barton bought last month."

He passed around the beers and sat down between Bruce and Rhodey. The team all raised their beer bottles in a silent toast to their captain.

"Do you think..." Wanda began, hesitating a moment. "Do you think there's some way we could get him out? Captain Rogers, I mean."

"I don't know," said Tony. "But I'm gonna try."

"Very carefully," Bruce warned.

"Of course. Don't want my whole lab getting sucked into oblivion. And besides, what good would I be doing Rogers if I was stuck in there with him?"

"Do you think Barnes will be okay, though? He was pretty messed up when we found him. It was kind of frightening," Pietro said, glancing around at the rest of the team. They had all lost people and they all reacted differently to those losses. But Bucky could be unpredictable enough as it was, and losing Steve had already made him do things Pietro wouldn't have expected of him.

"I honestly have no idea," said Sam grimly. "We can try to help him as much as he'll let us, but I think the best thing we can do for him is get Steve back as soon as possible and just keep him breathing until then."

"You don't think he'd try to... you know..." Clint trailed off, as though saying the thing aloud would jinx it.

"I hope not," Sam replied, and that was the only honest answer he could give.

"I'll start analyzing the device first thing in the morning, try to figure out some way to crack it or reverse it or... something," said Tony. "Wilson's right, the sooner we get Cap back the better."

* * *

Bucky blinked groggily at the bright morning sunlight streaming through his window. His head was killing him, his mouth felt like the Sahara, and the hollow ache in his chest was still throbbing. He went downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water, some toast, and an Advil, but the rest of the team was down there too and kept looking at him like he might break, so he took his simple breakfast upstairs and hid in his room once again.

The single piece of toast hadn't been nearly enough to fill him, but instead of getting something else to eat, Bucky had curled up on the bed again, staring at the empty space where Steve should be. His head was still aching and his stomach begged for more sustenance, but he embraced both. If pain was the only thing he'd ever feel, he would have to get used to living with it. Again. He was hardly a stranger to living in pain, but it had been long enough since his time with Hydra that it felt sharp and fresh. And besides, this was a new kind of pain. Bucky had never had to live with the knowledge that Steve Rogers was gone, or at least not as himself. Not when he could remember what Steve meant. This pain stung in a way no other torture he'd experienced had.

There was a soft knock at the door, but it was loud as a gunshot to Bucky. He didn't respond. Knowing the Avengers, more likely than not whoever it was would soon come in whether he answered or not. Not that his teammates were rude, that was just their way of caring for each other. But whoever it was didn't open the door. Bucky sighed.

"What?" he said, voice hoarse from crying.

The door opened and Vision stepped inside. Of course. The guy had Tony's AI butler in his head, of course he'd be too damn courteous to just burst in without an invitation, especially when Bucky was hurting.

"How are you feeling?" Vision asked, shutting the door behind him and coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Like shit," Bucky croaked.

"I am sorry," said Vision. His voice was so soft and soothing, Bucky almost felt slightly less dreadful. It was no wonder Tony had designed JARVIS with that voice.

"That's what everyone's saying..." Bucky felt a bit bad being so surly with Vision, but he didn't have the energy to be kind or grateful. Besides, feeling bad was just another kind of pain for him to get used to.

"I know. And I know it doesn't really help," Vision admitted. "But I do know something that might help a little."

"Is it some magic booze that'll get me drunk enough that I'll forget how to feel?"

"No," he replied, and Bucky heard the pity in his voice. "It's better than that. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are going to try and find a way to bring Captain Rogers back."

Bucky finally rolled over to look at him. Shock, gratefulness, and a glimmer of hope all welled up inside of him for a brief moment before being quashed again by that one word, "try". Sure, Tony and Bruce were two of the most brilliant scientists in the world, but the Vortex was powerful and dangerous and like nothing either of them had worked with. If they failed, it might not just mean not getting Steve back. It could also mean getting Tony and Bruce killed. No use getting his hopes up.

"Tell them thanks," said Bucky. "And tell them to be careful. I don't want that thing hurting anybody else because of me."

Vision nodded and silence fell between them.

"You should drink some more water," Vision said at last.

He stood up, taking the empty glass into the bathroom. Bucky heard the tap run for a moment, then Vision returned and set the newly filled glass on the nightstand. Bucky felt a lump in his throat. He didn't deserve how kind Vision was being to him. He sat up and took a sip of the water anyway.

"Thanks."

"Just let us know if you need anything at all."

Then he left.

* * *

Tony and Bruce sat in their lab, waiting for their scans to finish analyzing the Vortex. The device was so complex that it was taking much longer than they'd like. After all, the sooner they got Rogers out, the happier everyone would be. Especially Barnes. Who, according the their recent visit from Vision, was doing spectacularly awful.

"Tony?" Bruce piped up, breaking the silence.

"Mmm?" Tony acknowledged over the top of his coffee mug.

"What if... if we even manage to get Steve out... what if all we get back is his dead body?"

Tony paused, setting down his coffee mug as an excuse not to answer immediately. He had been obstinately refusing to let himself have this thought. Any time it threatened to pop into his head, he'd just told himself that if Rogers could survive 70 years in the Arctic he could survive this and pushed the thought aside. But now that Bruce had said the thought aloud, the possibility suddenly felt much more real.

"Well... then at least we'll have a body to bury," he said finally. It was a grim reply, but it wasn't exactly like he knew how to raise the dead.

"I'd just feel awful..." said Bruce. "I mean, we've given Bucky this little bit of hope that we can bring Steve back, but if he's not even alive... it would be for nothing."

"Maybe we shouldn't have had Vision tell him what we're doing. Just did it in secret. So if we can't do it, he doesn't have to lose Cap all over again."

Bruce raised his eyebrows and gave Tony a look that he had become very familiar with.

"And since when has keeping things like this secret ever worked out for us?" he said sarcastically.

"Yeah, but we're trying to bring Steve back, not building a potentially murderous robot!" Tony pointed out.

"It's not Steve that's the trouble here. It's the Vortex. If we mess up even a bit, it could kill both of us. Maybe even the entire team."

"Are you saying we shouldn't even try?"

"God no. I want Steve back as much as anybody. I'm just saying, it's a good thing we aren't doing this in secret. If everyone knows, at least we've got some sort of backup if things go screwy."

Tony sighed. He had a point.

"And besides," Bruce continued. "It's done. We've told Bucky. It's not like we can un-tell him."

"Naw, you're right."

Just then, the computer beeped, notifying them that the analysis was complete. Tony and Bruce both beelined to the screen.

"Okay," Tony muttered. "Let's see how to crack this son of a bitch."


	4. Chapter 4: Drowning

Chapter 4: Drowning

Two days. Bucky had survived two days without Steve and he wasn't really sure how he'd managed it. He almost felt guilty for still being okay. Except that he wasn't okay at all. He'd still only left his room to get scraps of food and fresh bottles of alcohol and spent most of his time curled up on his side of the bed (taking up the whole thing would make Steve's absence too real) or staring out the window at the city that now felt dead despite being so full of life. Bucky knew this wasn't what Steve would have wanted, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. He just hurt too much. And it was looking like this pain wasn't one he could learn to live with.

* * *

"I've hid all the booze," Natasha announced. "I didn't know what else to do. He won't be very pleased with me, but I honestly don't think Steve would thank us if we let his boyfriend become an alcoholic while he was away."

The way she put it made it sound like Steve was on vacation or something, but what else was she supposed to say? That he was stuck in some freaky Hydra device? Trapped in oblivion? No, just "away" worked fine. It was softer and avoided the truth: that they didn't have a clue where Steve was or how to get him out.

"Do I at least get to know where the booze is?" Tony asked.

He had emerged from the lab to refill his coffee for the fifth time today. Getting coffee and food were the only times him and Bruce ever left the lab. They were nearly as elusive as Bucky. Except they'd actually talk to people when they made a rare appearance.

"Nope," said Natasha. "You've got to keep sharp so you can save Steve. Besides, if you tried to mix alcohol with all the caffeine in your system right now, your body might just shut down spontaneously."

Tony scowled and grabbed an entire bunch of bananas from the basket by the sink.

"Fine. And why you gotta sit on the kitchen counters, Romanoff?" he huffed.

"Shut up, Stark, you do it all the time," Nat scoffed back, swinging her feet a little.

"Whatever," Tony sighed as he left to hole away in his lab once again.

As Tony left, Clint entered. He opened a cabinet and frowned, then opened the next one. Once he'd looked inside every single cabinet in the rather expansive kitchen, he frowned again.

"Christ, has Barnes managed to drink all the booze in the Tower?"

"I hid it," Natasha told him.

Clint leaned on the counter she was sitting on and tapped his fingers on her knee.

"Mind telling me where?" he asked.

"Sorry, Clint, that's classified."

Clint sighed.

"Look, Barnes is the up and coming alcoholic, not me. You know you can trust me."

"I'm not telling you," said Natasha. "I'm not telling anyone. The fewer people know where it is, the better. Bucky's in a bad place right now and I'd rather be the only person he's mad at."

"Okay, you got me," Clint said, looking up at her.

"Anyway, it's 2:30, don't you think it's a bit early for drinking?" Natasha teased.

Clint turned away almost immediately, but not before Natasha had noticed his face fall. She took his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. The look in his eyes was more upset than she'd seen him in a while.

"What's wrong?" she asked, quiet and serious now.

"Sorry, Nat. It's just... whatever it is that's happened to Cap, watching Barnes spiral out of control like this... it's takin' it outta me. It's one thing seeing shit get bad out on the field, but seeing your own teammates fall to pieces... I can't handle it. You guys are my family. Seeing anybody in the team hurting... it hurts like hell"

Natasha ran a comforting hand through Clint's hair and pulled him toward her, wrapping her legs around his ribs, her hands cradling the back of his head as he buried his face in her shirt; a full-body hug. Clint's toned forearms rested on her thighs, his right thumb absently stroking her hip. Natasha kissed him on the top of the head and leaned her cheek against his soft hair.

"I know, Clint," she whispered. "It's hurting me too."

* * *

Okay. No more alcohol. Presumably someone had hidden it. To be perfectly honest, Bucky didn't blame them. It was probably better that they had. When – no, IF – Steve came back, he'd be pretty upset if Bucky had become a total drunkard. So he let it be and went back to staring out the window.

Nope. On second thought, maybe this would be harder than he thought. Without the numbness of the booze in his blood or the burn of the whiskey in his throat, Bucky was left with nothing but the sharp pain in the place where his heart should be. Well, that and the pangs of hunger that were starting to make him feel nauseous. He hadn't eaten anything of substance in three days. Just a slice of bread every four hours or so to keep him alive and a hell of a lot of whiskey. He should probably eat properly or he'd eventually waste away. Was that such a bad thing though? A wave of nausea hit him and he decided that starvation wasn't the way he'd like to go.

He returned to the kitchen and loaded his arms with the most random selection of food imaginable, not entirely paying attention to what he'd picked out, before retreating back to his room. He dumped his spoils on the bed and examined what he'd found. A half loaf of bread (oh god, he'd had enough bread the last three days), a jar of apricot jam (okay, so at least that would make the bread more bearable), three apples, a box of cereal (but no milk), five protein bars, a lemon (what the hell was he supposed to do with that?), and a bottle of ketchup (even more useless than the lemon). He set the lemon and the ketchup aside, planning to return them to the kitchen on his next raid, then picked up an apple.

About half an hour later, Bucky had made a significant dent in his newly acquired food supplies and he wasn't entirely sure if he felt better or not. At least he wasn't nauseous anymore. He had moved what was left to the chair in the corner and had resumed his previous position of lying on the bed and watching the minutes tick by on his alarm clock.

 _There you go, Stevie, I'm trying to take care of myself,_ he thought bitterly.

Bucky stared out the window as New York City grew about as dark as it knew how. The clock on the nightstand read fifteen minutes after midnight when Bucky slipped on some tennis shoes and a jacket. He zipped the jacket up about halfway and pulled the hood up over his head, then slipped out of his room and into the elevator across the hall. As it descended to the ground level, he crossed his fingers in his pocket, hoping no one else would decide to board. But his trip downward went uninterrupted. He poked his head out as the doors slid open and glanced around; the lobby was deserted. Readjusting his hood, he shoved his hands back in his pockets and crossed to the front doors, exiting into the night.


	5. Chapter 5: Manhunt

Chapter 5: Manhunt

"Shit. Shitshitshitshit," Sam muttered to himself as he half-walked half-jogged down the corridor to where Natasha, Thor, and Pietro were playing some sort of card game. "Guys, we've got a big problem," he announced the minute he entered the lounge.

"What is it? It's not the device?" Natasha asked, setting down her cards and getting to her feet.

"No, it's Bucky. He's gone. I went to check on him, make sure he was doing alright, and he just wasn't there. And before you ask, he's nowhere in the Tower. I've looked."

"Well then we're going to have to search for him," Thor said, standing as well.

"We can split up, take different parts of the city. Do you know of anywhere specific he might go?" said Pietro.

"I can think of a few places," Sam said.

* * *

They had quartered off the city, each of them taking a different section to search. Pietro knew he'd be done first, unless he found Barnes and had to convince him to go back. He had gotten good enough with his super speed by now that it didn't matter how fast he was going, he could still search pretty thoroughly and barely have to slow down. But by the time he'd dashed down every street and alley in his designated quarter, he'd found no sign of Barnes. And now he was second-guessing. Maybe, just maybe, he'd missed something. Barnes could be pretty stealthy if he wanted. And considering the state he was in, he probably wanted to go unfound. So Pietro slowed down. Not all the way, but enough that his second search had him peeking into the dark corners that he'd passed over before. Still nothing. Fuming with frustration, Pietro returned to the Tower and sat in the lobby, awaiting the others' returns.

* * *

Natasha knew of all the dark little places, all the places someone could hide if they didn't want to be found, and she knew Bucky knew of them too. They were very alike and they both knew it, former assassins who'd rather run from their pasts but didn't, all too familiar with the cold and the dark and hiding from the world. As she left the Tower, she was confident she could find him. Two hours later, she realized she never could. She could search all the dark places, she could even search the light ones, but as she dejectedly returned to the Tower, she realized Bucky wasn't hiding from the world. Escape wasn't what he needed. He needed Steve, so he would go to the places where he could find maybe a sliver of him. And the only person who knew those places was Steve Rogers himself.

* * *

Thor's familiarity with this city had grown greatly since the Avengers had first fought on its streets and in its skies. But knowing a city was useless in a manhunt. For that, you needed to know the man. Yes, Thor knew Barnes, decently well he thought. They were friends, teammates, had sparred together on more than one occasion, helped each other on many missions. Thor had comforted Barnes when they had first lost the Captain to the Vortex device. But he didn't know Barnes well enough to know all the places he might go for solace and solitude. Of course, he checked the places Wilson had suggested, but that wasn't enough. Thor scoured every corner of the quarter he had been assigned to no avail, forcing him to return to the Tower empty handed.

* * *

Sam may know most of Bucky's favorite places in New York (they were usually the same as Steve's), but he didn't presume to know where he might actually go at a time like this. Even this late at night, the streets were crowded, and if he knew one thing about Bucky, especially Bucky-while-in-a-fragile-state, it was that he would definitely not be in a crowd. So Sam checked every quiet place he knew of, and if it had any possible connection to Steve, he checked it twice. As he began to return to the Tower in defeat, he decided to take a back route, just in case. It was a much more dangerous way to go, especially at two in the morning, but Bucky was worth it. Besides, he was an Avenger now, he could easily escape a little back-alley mugging if he had to. He was walking past a brick wall a few feet taller than him when he was suddenly overwhelmed by that unnerving feeling that he was being watched. Slowly he turned, eyes flitting in every direction, scanning the area. He had made a complete 180 when he saw the hooded figure perched atop the wall, leaning against the building it was connected to. The figure raised his hand, which glinted metal in the streetlight, and lowered his hood.

"Hey Sam," Bucky said. His voice was hoarse and he looked gaunt and pale in the dim light.

"Bucky! What the hell are you doing up there?" Sam said, coming to stand directly beneath his perch.

Bucky just shrugged.

"Why did you leave the Tower?" Sam asked.

"Needed air."

"Why didn't you _tell anyone_ you were leaving the Tower?"

Bucky just shrugged again.

"How did you get on top of that wall?"

"Jumped."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No, you guys stole all the booze, remember?"

"Technically you did the stealing, we did the hiding."

Bucky didn't answer.

"So really, why did you leave? Besides needing air."

"I... I don't know," Bucky said defeatedly.

Sam looked up at him and sighed.

"Are you gonna come down or should I come up?"

Bucky didn't answer and he definitely didn't come down, so Sam sighed again and glanced behind him before backing up to get a running start. He heaved himself up and sat facing Bucky, one leg hanging over each side of the wall. Bucky stared at him for a moment, then looked away.

"How are you doing? And I mean that seriously, not just the greeting kind," Sam asked.

Bucky looked at him again and didn't answer for a moment, considering his answer.

"Truthfully?" he said at last. "I'm really fucking awful."

"He may _not_ be dead, you know."

"No, I don't know. That's the problem, none of us know," Bucky snapped, all the apathy in his voice since Sam found him replaced with raw grief. "He might be dead. He might not be. But even if he isn't, he's still fucking gone, trapped in some hell hole and it's all my fault."

"Bucky, it's not –"

"Yes, it is. I'm the one who touched that goddamn thing and set it off. If I hadn't, Steve would still be here." He paused, staring off at some point in the darkness, or at nothing at all. "It shoulda been me. If things were fair then it woulda been me. I should be the one stuck God knows where, not him."

"Look, whether it's your fault or not, it doesn't change what happened. You can't switch places with him, you can't undo it. But you sure as hell shouldn't let it destroy you, because when Tony and Bruce get him out, and they _will_ get him out, the first person he's gonna want to see is you, and he'll want to see you alive. So let's get you home."

* * *

"Oh, thank God," Natasha sighed in relief the second Sam and Bucky stepped through the door. "Where the hell were you?"

"Just getting some air..." Bucky replied. He rather wished he could have just slunk back to his room without a welcoming committee, but it appeared Sam hadn't been the only one out looking for him as Natasha, Thor, and Pietro ambushed them in the lobby.

"Well next time, tell someone before you go wandering off like that," Natasha scolded.

"I'm ninety-seven years old, Nat, for the love of God..."

"Yeah, and you've consumed half the alcohol in the Tower over the last three days, have barely eaten, and haven't left your room until you apparently decided New York City at midnight was the perfect environment for some fresh air. Clearly you still need a babysitter."

"Nat, maybe not now..." Sam intervened.

"No, it's fine, I deserve it, I was being stupid," Bucky muttered, wandering distractedly toward the elevator. "I'm going to bed."

"Good night," Pietro attempted to call after him, but the elevator doors were already closing.

Bucky sighed heavily and rested his forehead against the elevator wall, gripping the rail with both hands. He stayed like this until the doors slid open again, then he crossed the hall, slammed the door behind him, and collapsed onto his bed without even taking off his shoes.


	6. Chapter 6: Waiting Game

Chapter 6: Waiting Game

A week. An entire fucking week. It had been a Tuesday when Bucky lost him, so on Tuesday he cried for the first time since Friday and refused to leave his room even to eat. On Wednesday, he grudgingly came out and joined the others for breakfast as he had tried doing over the weekend, but he didn't speak once all day. He wasn't spending all his time in his room now, instead having switched to aimlessly wandering the Tower. Occasionally he'd come across a few of his teammates huddled together, whispering, but they always stopped when they caught sight of him. Probably talking about him. Actually, Bucky knew they were talking about him because just an hour ago he had walked in on Rhodey and Wanda muttering and had caught a few words of their conversation before they noticed him. Something about a "goddamn mess" and "depressed" and "he needs help". Yeah, that about summed Bucky up right now.

He'd found a nice isolated balcony where he could sit without being bothered, just letting the wind tousle his hair and listening to the sounds of the city below. He rather hoped none of the others would find him here because, based on what Rhodey and Wanda had been saying, they'd probably freak and not let him onto anymore balconies for fear he'd hurl himself over the edge. He wouldn't blame them for thinking that. He'd almost considered it. But there was still that tiny glimmer of hope that maybe Tony and Bruce could get Steve back and he'd be safe and alive and whole and everything would be okay again. And that tiny glimmer was enough to keep Bucky alive, for a while at least. But the others were worried about him and they wouldn't get that, because they thought he was less stable than he was. Not that he was actually stable by any stretch of the imagination. He wasn't _that_ deluded. But he had managed to pick up a few of the pieces that losing Steve had scattered everywhere. A week ago, if he'd had the strength to get out of bed, then he might have given the balcony a little more than a second of consideration. But now, he knew. He had to stay alive for Steve.

* * *

"This is the single most frustrating project I have ever worked on," Tony groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Literally all we've got is that it turns on at the touch of human flesh, is highly volatile, and drags in a lot of shit and never lets it go no matter how much we beg."

"So basically, it's you," said Bruce.

Tony threw a pen at Bruce, who dodged just in time to avoid getting stabbed in the eye.

"But seriously, how are we supposed to get into this thing?" Bruce said, taking off his glasses and absentmindedly cleaning them on his shirt.

"Find some new ways to beg."

"And if none of them work?"

"Then we're gonna have to be glad that, between the two of us, I'm not the one who's the Hulk."

* * *

Three in the morning. What the hell was Sam doing up at three in the morning. Having trouble sleeping, that's what. Your best friend being trapped in some void and being left behind to keep his boyfriend from going crazy could do that to a man. So he was up at three in the morning, at least three hours before anybody else would be up, sitting in Stark and Banner's lab. He wasn't really sure why he'd come here initially. But as he sat staring at that little box that held that evil device that was so small but could do so much damage, he felt... something. Maybe not comfort, 'cause staring at the thing that stole your friend was hardly comforting. But something almost close to comfort, knowing that Steve was still so close in one way or another. He was in that damn little box, waiting to be let out.

"Hey Steve," Sam said, fully realizing how stupid he'd look if someone were to walk in on him talking to a box. "I don't know if you can hear me. Probably not, but it's worth a shot anyway. But, uh... we need you back here. A lot. Everybody's real torn up. They're not necessarily saying it but I can tell. And, well... Bucky's not holding up so great. I've tried to help him. Tried to let him know it's not his fault you got stuck in there. But he's about as damn stubbornly blame-taking as you. You already knew that though. It's not just guilt tearing at him though, it's grief too. I think he's convinced you being in that thing is permanent. I know I shouldn't be getting my hopes up too much, but... I can't help believing you'll get through this. I mean, you're Captain America. You've made it through a hell of a lot. And you've got Tony Stark and Bruce Banner helping you on this end, so I know you're in good hands. I'm sure you can make it out of there." Sam paused, looking down at his hands. "Thing is... I miss you, Steve. Way more then I've been letting on. I'm trying to keep it together, for the team, y'know. But... I really do need to believe you're coming back. So please, if you're listening... if you can even hear me... fight a little harder. I know you've got it in you. If Tony and Bruce can't get you out, maybe _you_ can."

* * *

Of course the nightmares had to come back when there was no one there to help him. Bucky tried to swallow back the rawness in his throat from the strangled cry that had escaped him, yanking him out of the long-past clutches of Hydra. He rubbed his hands over his sweaty face, hair on end and limbs tangled in blankets, trying to catch his breath. There was a very quiet knock on the door.

"Hello?" he called.

The door opened and Wanda peered inside, her long brown hair in a messy braid.

"Are you okay? I heard you cry out," she asked.

"Yeah... I'll be fine. Just a nightmare," Bucky replied, trying to sound casual.

Wanda obviously wasn't buying it because she stepped further inside, a concerned frown on her face.

"Do you need anything?" she asked him.

"What could you possibly do for me to help with this?"

"I could help you get back to sleep," Wanda offered. "And I could make sure you have no more nightmares tonight."

"You can do that?" Bucky said in surprise.

"I've done it for Pietro plenty of times."

"He has bad dreams?"

"We both do. You know better than anyone what Hydra's experiments can do."

Oh yeah. Bucky had nearly forgotten that Hydra had made the Maximoffs their bitches too, if not quite as intensely as they had to him.

"So would you like me to help?" Wanda offered again.

"Okay," said Bucky after a pause.

Wanda came and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Lay back down," she said quietly.

Bucky obeyed, watching her curiously as she raised a hand. A shimmer of red appeared at her fingertips. Slowly and very gently, she touched her fingers to his temple.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

Bucky obeyed, feeling a pleasant, friendly warmth swirling around in his brain. He could hear Wanda's voice from someplace above him, but he couldn't tell what she was saying. Her thick, lilting accent was like a lullaby and he was barely aware that he had already drifted back to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Return

Chapter 7: Return

It was Sunday, halfway through the weekend, the two week mark inching painfully closer. With the return of his nightmares, Bucky had gotten bad again. He was barely eating, spent most of his time either in bed or tucked away in some corner of the Tower, and worst of all, he was losing hope. He could feel his teammates' worried stares burning into him whenever he was in the same room as them, so instead he just stayed away. He knew they just wanted to help, but by now he was convinced that he was beyond that. Steve wasn't coming back, he couldn't possibly be, and no matter how much the other Avengers wanted to help him get through that, they couldn't. No one could ever help him recover from losing Steve.

* * *

Bruce was monitoring the readings from the Vortex as Tony tinkered, still determinedly trying to find a way in. But nothing had worked so far and they were running out of options. Bruce would never say it out loud, but he was starting to think it might actually be impossible.

"Oh shit."

Bruce looked up, suddenly aware of a steady beeping. He turned to Tony and saw the horrified, panicked look on his face.

"What the hell did you do?!" Bruce said, eyes widening.

"I didn't fucking touch it, I swear!"

They looked at each other, fear in both their eyes as they realized what was happening, how badly they'd fucked up. But they hesitated too long. The beeping sped up as the countdown neared its end.

"Bruce, run! Go NOW!"

He didn't need telling twice. Bruce turned on his heel and dashed, but came to a screeching halt at the doorway, suddenly realizing Tony wasn't right behind him. He turned and saw Tony grab hold of one of the nailed-down tables just as the device went off. Bruce gripped the doorframe; it was the only thing in reach.

"What the hell are you doing?! I said get out of here!" Tony shouted over the rushing of the Vortex.

"I'm not just gonna leave you in here!" Bruce yelled back.

"Just save yourself! Someone's gonna have to bust me and Rogers out!"

"I am NOT leaving you here to die, Tony."

"Too late for that, buddy."

Bruce knew he was right. There was no way he could possibly get Tony out of there now that the device had gone off. Or had it? There was a terrifying, swirling void in the center of the room and a roaring wind was sending papers everywhere, but nothing was actually being sucked in. If anything... things were blowing _out._

"Holy shit..." Bruce gasped, inaudible over the ruckus.

Suddenly there was a huge flash and Bruce instinctively turned away, shielding his eyes. When he reopened them, the Vortex had shrunk back into its unassuming little box. The lab was a mess, and right in the middle of all the chaos, huddled in a trembling ball was...

"Steve."

Bruce scrambled forward and fell to his knees next to Steve, Tony crawling over to join him. The Captain was definitely the worse for wear. His uniform was torn and singed in several places, his blond hair messy and matted down in places with something that looked unpleasantly like blood.

"Steve. Hey, Steve, look at me. It's Tony. You're home," Tony said in a voice more comforting than Bruce thought he was capable of.

Slowly, timidly, Steve looked up. Bruce's heart skipped a beat. Steve looked like he'd been through hell. Literally. He was horribly pale and there were dark shadows under his wide, terrified blue eyes, making him look almost skeletal. There was blood all down the right side of his face and a bruise on his jaw.

"Oh God... I never expected this..." Bruce said, the pity in his voice almost choking him.

Suddenly the door slammed open and Steve jumped as though it was a gunshot. Tony immediately reached out a hand to steady him but Steve recoiled. Bruce turned to see Natasha, Sam, and Rhodey in the doorway.

"We saw the lab had gone on red alert, we thought–" Rhodey began, then stopped in his tracks when he saw Steve.

"Oh my God," said Sam, hurrying forward and dropping down next in front of Steve.

"He's kinda... shaken up," said Bruce. It was a serious understatement. Shaken up was what he and Tony were. Steve was... well, he wasn't sure yet. But it was extremely terrifying, whatever it was.

"Hey, man, it's me," Sam said, holding out his hand as though Steve was a stray cat. Steve didn't take it, but he didn't back away either. Progress. "It's gonna be okay. You're safe now. I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise."

He slowly, gently placed his outstretched hand on Steve's forearm. Steve just sort of stared at it, as though trying to process the sensation.

"We should probably wait 'til he's snapped out of this a bit before we tell Bucky, with the state they're both in it'd have them both freaked," Natasha said quietly, turning to Rhodey.

But at the sound of Bucky's name, Steve's head shot up and a bit of light seemed to return to his eyes.

"Bucky?" he said. His voice was hoarse, but not in a way that suggested lack of use. Bruce shuddered to think what could have happened to him to make Steve Rogers scream himself hoarse.

"Do you want us to get Bucky?" Sam asked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

Natasha took a deep breath, then left the room.

* * *

Bucky was up on the rooftop, standing near the very edge. He wasn't going to jump. Or at least he didn't think he was. He was never really sure anymore. Part of him wanted to die, to join Steve. But the other part of him was ashamed at himself for even considering something like this. He wondered which part would eventually win out.

"Bucky, wait!" a voice behind him shouted, clearly panicked.

Bucky turned around. Natasha stood at the rooftop door, eyes wide.

"I wasn't gonna jump, y'know," he told her.

"Oh." Natasha relaxed. "Well, you never know."

"What are you doing up here?" Bucky asked.

"I came to fetch you. We got Steve back."

Bucky just stared at her, barely comprehending. Steve was back? He was... alive? He was home? That shouldn't have been possible, it couldn't be, this had to be a dream, a horrible dream, and maybe if he did just turn around and jump, he'd wake up...

"He's in a bit of a bad way, though. Whatever happened to him in there... it messed him up. He's gonna need you, Bucky. You're gonna have to help him through this," Natasha said.

"Is he hurt?" Bucky said in a small voice.

Natasha nodded.

"Take me to him."


	8. Chapter 8: Fix You

Chapter 8: Fix You

Bucky came to a halt in the doorway. Natasha had been telling the truth. It was Steve. He was here, and... Bucky's heart plummeted. What the hell had turned his Steve into the broken shell of a man before him? What had happened to him in that horrible place where Bucky couldn't protect him like he should have? How could a man so full of light and strength look that hollow and broken?

Bucky walked slowly across the lab, kneeling next to Steve. Oh God, he looked even worse up close. A lump rose up in Bucky's throat and he felt tears well up in his eyes, but he couldn't let himself cry. He had to stay strong. For Steve.

"Hey Stevie. I'm here," he whispered. It was all he could manage.

Steve looked at him and there was a little flicker of something besides fear and pain in his eyes. It was almost happiness, but there was still too much hurt for that.

"Bucky," Steve gasped, as though his name was the only word that mattered.

Bucky almost broke when he heard how raw Steve's voice was. He was all too familiar with the sound of a voice raw from screaming.

"Yeah, it's me, baby. I'm gonna take care of you, and I ain't ever gonna leave you again." It was all he could do not to let the tears take over. "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay?"

Steve nodded and Bucky took his arm, gently pulling him to his feet. He paid no mind to the others as he shepherded Steve out of the lab, into the elevator, and to their room. It was _their_ room again. Closing the door behind them, Bucky led Steve to the bed and sat him down on the edge of it. He took the shield, which was still miraculously strapped to his back, and set it in the corner before fetching the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. He sat next to Steve on the bed and carefully began swabbing away the dried blood that coated the side of his face, probing for the source. Finally he found it, a jagged cut near his hairline that was mostly scabbed over.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"Not anymore," Steve replied.

Well, that was more syllables than he'd spoken so far.

"Let's get you out of these clothes and clean you up, okay?" Bucky said.

Steve nodded. Bucky took the first aid kit back to the bathroom and set it on the counter before turning on the bathtub and letting it start to fill. He went back into the bedroom and crouched down in front of Steve, pulling off his boots and his socks. He stood back up and started helping Steve out of his uniform. The more layers he removed, the more Bucky's heart ached as the extent of Steve's injuries was revealed. His entire body was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. Criss-crossing over his muscled back were several long, angry cuts that were unmistakably from the lash of a whip. Bucky swallowed back the bile that threatened to burn his throat; Steve had been tortured.

When Steve was completely stripped, Bucky led him into the bathroom and turned off the faucet before ushering him into the steaming water. Steve flinched slightly at the heat but sunk into it, soon relaxing slightly as the warmth started to sap some of the tension from his muscles. Bucky sat on the toilet seat and cupped his hands to scoop up some water and wet Steve's hair. He picked up the shampoo bottle and squeezed some out, then massaged it gently over Steve's scalp, washing away the dirt and dried blood that had matted down his soft blond hair. Then he scooped up more handfuls of water to rinse it out, careful not to get any suds in Steve's eyes. When his hair was clean, Bucky picked up the bar of soap and a washcloth and began washing Steve's body, being extra careful around his various cuts and burns. Steve barely reacted to his administrations, letting Bucky move his limbs without resistance. Finally, Bucky set aside the soap and ran a hand through Steve's wet hair.

"Come on, up you get," he said, taking Steve's arm again and helping him out of the tub.

He unplugged the drain, grabbed a towel, and set to work on drying Steve off. He was crouched down, drying Steve's legs, when Steve spoke again.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Bucky paused and looked up, having to gaze up the entirety of Steve's naked body to see his face.

"Of course I am. I've got you back, don't I?" he replied, going back to drying Steve's legs and hoping he wouldn't realize just how much of a lie that was.

"You don't look okay."

Bucky sighed. Steve always was the best at knowing when he was hurting, and he wasn't exactly doing a very good job of hiding it right now. Bucky stood up and wrapped the towel around Steve's waist, tucking in the corner to secure it. He looked at Steve. Now that he wasn't covered in blood and grime, he looked almost normal again. Almost. He couldn't wash away the dark shadows or the haunted look swimming behind tired, bloodshot eyes.

"The last two weeks have been... difficult," Bucky murmured. "I mean, they can't possibly hold a candle to what you've been through, but... I thought you were gone forever, Steve, and it was my fault. It's my fault you're beat up and looking at me with those terrified eyes. I shoulda let go of that railing the second your hand left mine. Then at least you wouldn't have been alone."

The tears were coming now and there was no stopping them. He'd told himself to be strong for Steve, but he couldn't, not when he was the reason all this had happened. Not when he was standing this close to Steve and could see every single mark, down to the tiniest scratch, that the Vortex had left on him. _He_ had done this to Steve and he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"This is my fault. It's all my fault. I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry."

He was sobbing now, uncontrollable tremors wracking his body as all the grief and guilt of what he'd let Steve go through hit him with the force of a freight train. It wasn't fair of him to lose control like this, he knew it wasn't, not when Steve was barely hanging on by a thread and couldn't possibly have the strength to comfort him or tell him that no, it wasn't his fault, even though it so completely was. Suddenly, Steve's tentative but still strong arms were around him and Bucky clung to him as though the slightest breeze would separate them again. He tried to get a handle on his sobs to no avail, so he buried his face his Steve's bare, bruised chest, crying and gasping "I'm sorry" over and over until he was too exhausted to stand.

* * *

Steve was lying stomach-down on the bed while Bucky sat beside him, caring for the lash-marks on his back. Neither of them had spoken a word since Bucky's meltdown in the bathroom. The sky outside had grown dark but neither of them could bring themselves to suggest going to sleep, even though they were exhausted. Secretly, they were both too scared of the nightmares that they knew would come. Finally Bucky finished bandaging Steve's wounds and cleared his throat.

"Sorry for earlier."

Steve tilted his head so he could look up at him.

"It's fine," he said.

"No, it's not," said Bucky. "It was selfish. You've been beaten and tortured and God knows what else, and there I was crying all over the place because I feel guilty. If anybody's got the right to break down like that right now, it's you. Not me."

Steve carefully pushed himself up so he was sitting facing Bucky. He was still naked, but rather than feeling exposed and vulnerable like he had back... no, he couldn't think about that... at home, with Bucky, he knew he was safe and his nakedness wasn't as terrifying as he had expected it to be.

"It's not your fault," he began.

"I knew you'd say that..." Bucky muttered.

"I'm not finished yet," Steve said. "It is _not_ your fault. It was an accident. Do I wish it hadn't happened? Absolutely. If I had known that I would... but we did what we had to. If Hydra had kept that thing, they'd have used it and it would've been a lot worse than just me being... Please don't blame yourself, Bucky. And don't call yourself selfish for breaking down."

Steve exhaled heavily. He hadn't said that many words at one time since before the Vortex. Unless you counted constant pleading. He shuddered. Just the thought of how much he'd pleaded filled him with fear and a hint of shame. He wasn't the begging type. Bucky was gazing at him, a guilty look still hiding behind his eyes, but mostly he just looked sad.

"You don't have to tell me any of what happened in there," he said. "But if you need to, I'll listen and do whatever I can to help you through it."

"Thanks, Buck." Steve tried to smile at him but the muscles didn't seem to work properly anymore. "Actually, there is something..."

"What is it?"

Steve looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly, and he wondered if they'd ever be as steady as they used to be.

"How do you deal with the nightmares?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Bucky took both of Steve's shaking hands in his own steady ones.

"I've got you," he said gently. "And now you've got me. I'll be right here next to you to chase them away."


	9. Chapter 9: Time

Chapter 9: Time

"Is it safe for Natasha to reveal the location of the alcohol? 'Cause I really need a drink," said Tony, burying his face in his hands.

The Avengers were all sitting in the lounge. Bucky had just taken Steve off to their room and those who had witnessed the events in the lab were filling in the rest of the team.

"Seriously, Stark?" Natasha sighed.

"Yes seriously, Romanoff. I could've just died, and Steve –" Tony stopped short. "Just... please. I really, really need a drink."

Natasha took pity on him and left the room. Five minutes later, she returned with a bottle of whiskey and several glasses.

"I figured Tony wasn't the only one in need of a drink," she announced, then proceeded to pour herself a glass and sat back down.

Sure enough, everyone shortly had a glass in hand.

"We should've gotten him out sooner," Tony said after a long silence.

"You were trying as hard as you could," Rhodey said, trying to be consoling.

"Yeah well, we should've tried harder." Tony drained the rest of his glass and poured himself more whiskey. "You didn't see the way he looked at me, Rhodey. He wouldn't even let me touch him. Jumped away like I was gonna hurt him or something."

"He was scared," said Sam. "None of us could even imagine what he went through in there."

"But it's _me_ , he knows I wouldn't hurt him..."

"Tony, he'd literally just gotten out of that thing, he was disoriented. He may have even thought he was hallucinating or dreaming."

Tony sighed. Sam was right, of course. But he knew that look on Steve's face was going to haunt him. It was like a hunted animal, cornered, convinced Tony was there to finish him off. And Tony felt responsible for that, because he was supposed to be the one getting Steve out and he'd failed. He knew he wasn't the one who opened the Vortex. He didn't know what had, but it wasn't him.

"He's gonna need time is all," said Natasha. "It's Steve. He'll get through this. He always does."

* * *

This was so much harder than Bucky could have ever anticipated. Not the taking care of Steve part. He'd done that plenty of times in a lifetime half forgotten, back when Steve was small and sickly and needed help just surviving flu season and when Bucky was a hell of a lot less fucked up. Even though circumstances had drastically changed, he was more than capable of taking care of Steve. No, the hardest thing was seeing how damaged Steve had become and being completely useless in the face of it. He could see the physical and emotional results of Steve's torment but didn't know the cause (and quite frankly, wasn't even sure he wanted to know) and had even fewer ideas on how to fix it. If he even could fix it. He was starting to have a deeper understanding of how it must have been for Steve when he'd come crawling to his doorstep after Hydra. If his own experiences were any sort of precedent, Bucky had the feeling that the only thing that could make this better was time.

It had been a restless night. Steve had woken up five times because of nightmares, and between them, Bucky had barely been able to sleep, too worried about Steve. Mostly, he just lay there in the dark, holding Steve, waiting for the next nightmare to drag him back to consciousness. Then he'd stroke Steve's hair and tell him he was safe until he fell back asleep. When morning finally came, Bucky slipped out to the kitchen while Steve got dressed and came back with breakfast for both of them. After they'd finished, Bucky checked on Steve's wounds. And when he'd finished that was when he realized: he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do now.


End file.
